


Mold Me by the River Bed

by Drawn_During_a_Panic_Attack



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, Maybe - Freeform, This thing is gonna get so sad, au in which Jean is a mama's boy, au in which marco hates jean before they do the buttsex, they WILL eventually do the butt sex, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 07:35:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drawn_During_a_Panic_Attack/pseuds/Drawn_During_a_Panic_Attack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hot. It was always hot, and that was a really big reason Markoh really didn’t like having dark hair. The mud wasn’t so bad when he got to a cool patch, but most of the time whenever it splattered on his skin, it dried up really quickly, and that just hurt to get off when there wasn’t much water available. Being a slave in this heat, stomping on mud to build things, getting bitten by all kinds of bugs; Markoh thought life would remain this way for the rest of his life. Until he met him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I started writing this for CacklingJackal (tumblr) for their Ancient Egypt AU. This is my first fic so I hope I don't disappoint whomever reads this! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as arminfuckingarlert. uwu

Hot. It was always hot, and that was a really big reason Markoh really didn’t like having dark hair. The mud wasn’t so bad when he got to a cool patch, but most of the time whenever it splattered on his skin, it dried up really quickly, and that just hurt to get off when there wasn’t much water available. Being a slave in this heat, stomping on mud to build things, getting bitten by all kinds of bugs; Markoh thought life would remain this way for the rest of his life. Until he met him.

 

It was like any other day: His skin burned, stomach was empty, and it was boring as always. Water, straw, sand, stomp, press, build. Building the Pyramids was grueling work; hard and unrelenting, yet boring nonetheless because it was routine. The routine that would seemingly follow Markoh ultimately died of starvation or exhaustion like his parents before him. Well, that was until a loud shriek, followed by loud splattering sound made Markoh and a couple other people stop working. Slowly, a small figure rose, a boy, completely covered in mud, eyes squinting, teeth white as could be contrasted with mud splattered skin, and a curse word sounding from the boy’s lips. He was missing a front tooth, his dry patches of hair on the top of his head a straw sort of colour. Back then Markoh had been very intrigued by the presence of this boy he’d never seen before. The boy wiped off the mud on his face and caught sight of Markoh, brown eyes clashing with tawny. And only after he had wiped off his face did Markoh notice how light the other’s skin was compared to his own. The strange boy looked down at the mud and back again to Markoh, grinning widely and suddenly lit up with enthusiasm. “Hey, can I do this with you?” he asked, and Markoh looked around at everyone working and noticed he’d get in trouble for standing still. “Y-Yeah, of course. But hurry up, or else we’ll get in trouble,” the freckled boy replied and the other nodded in response, laughing as he gave a great jump, stomping and working as if he’d never done so a day in his life. It was fun to have someone to work with. Definitely less boring.

 

As the strange boy worked, he complained infinitely about the bugs, the sun, the mud itching his face; stuff Markoh had grown accustomed to in all his life working out here. It was something common place, to be honest. So, naturally, he was confused as to why the other was so vocal. Nevertheless, Markoh was quiet, gave small nods or words of agreement as the time went on before the boy paused, eyebrows furrowing and turned. “Hey, what’s your name?” he asked, to which Markoh gave a small smile and responded with “Markoh. What’s yours?” Though as he opened his mouth to answer, thumb pressed proudly against his puffed chest, a voice answered for him. “Prince Jehan! What are you doing?!” a voice shrieked, and Markoh couldn’t help but jump, body going numb. Prince Jehan. Why hadn’t he noticed it before? The way the boy had presented himself, his lighter skin from spending all his life indoors, his complaining about the elements. Oh no. Markoh was in a lot of trouble. A lot of trouble. A hand grabbed his forearm, removing him from his work, because this sort of punishment was to be received immediately.

 

The lashings were several, and Markoh could barely walk. He was washing blood out of his clothes for days, the cuts in his back deep and plenty. No one cared that he was eight. No one cared that he didn’t know Jehan was the prince. No one cared that he was working hard as he always was. He had fraternized with royalty. He had allowed royalty to work. So He was to be punished.  Markoh had but one family member. A cousin. Seeing as they were all each other had, it got to a point where they were codependent; feeding on each other for love, care, and comfort. “Markoh, how could you have done something stupid like talk to the prince? And you let him work?” she had said, pressing a wet towel to his cuts and, god, it hurt. Whenever he made a noise of discomfort, she’d ease up on the rough treatment, but only just. “I didn’t know he was the prince,” Markoh responded, gritting his teeth as she pressed in on one of his wounds a bit harder, trying to teach him even more of a lesson. “Listen, as much as I think you’re an idiot,”she began, sighing to herself, “You shouldn’t have gotten all these lashings. I’m gonna beat the shit out of whoever hurt you.” Markoh laughed despite himself and told her he was fine. He’d never see the prince again anyway.  
  
That night when Markoh lay in bed, he wondered why the Prince wanted to play with the slaves anyway. How did he even get out there? Working in mud pits was grueling work; it was tiring, it was taxing, it hurt your bones, and burned your skin. What was the glamour in it when he had an entire palace to play in? In the shade with plenty of water, no men telling him to work harder, shoving him and whipping him for not being good enough, not working hard enough. The prince could have the world, and yet he chose to come play in the mud pits. Out of everyone out there, out of all the children; why Markoh? He couldn’t sleep on his back because it burned too badly, and yet, he couldn’t resent Jehan. Not really. The prince didn’t know that Markoh would be whipped. Of course that in it’s own was a lie, but he told it to himself anyway, because who in their right mind would do something to get someone whipped on purpose? Besides, what good was it to resent someone who wasn’t even his friend? He didn’t need the prince in his life. Him and his cousin shared something no one could ever destroy.

 

The next morning she was gone, sold to a foreign land in exchange for profit that probably wasn’t even needed.

 

Markoh was alone.

 

But he was okay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, I cannot believe so many of you actually took the time out of your day to come and read my crummy first chapter and aghksghfsdufghjdrfgn
> 
> Guys I love you all so much, you're the best. 
> 
> Here's the second chapter in Jehan's point of view. It'll go like this: Markoh, Jehan, Markoh, Jehan, etc. The first two or three chapters (two/three Markoh's POV, two/three Jehan's POV) are gonna have a time skip of a few years. Once they reach age seventeen-ish, the timeline won't be more than weeks or maybe a couple months at a time. No more huge time skips.
> 
> I am so sorry for taking so long to write this. I hope you enjoy!

Picture this; a boy, age seven, eyes crudely painted with kohl, grin on his lips, missing front tooth, looking in the mirror as if he were the most wonderful thing in all of egypt - No -  in all of the world! That boy was Jehan, prince of Egypt, only son of pharaoh, and heir to the throne. But in that moment, standing in that mirror, kohl on his face; Jehan _was_ Pharaoh, and egypt was his to rule.

Well… That was until  his bubble was totally popped.

“JEHAN! WHAT DID MOMMY SAY ABOUT PLAYING IN HER MAKE  UP?” came the cry from his mother, which immediately made his entire aura of confidence fade, posture deflating, and a groan leaving his throat.

“Moooooom,” he whined, his foot giving a stomp, “Don’t talk to me like I’m a baby, I’m Pharaoh right now!” His mother’s angry features softened and she let out a laugh which only caused Jehan’s cheeks to become flushed. He wasn’t a baby! He was already almost eight years old!

“Oh, of course! So sorry, _Pharaoh_ ,” the queen said, walking over to her son and easily lifting him into her arms. Of course Jehan squirmed in protest for a moment before giving in and leaning into his mother’s arms. Jehan was promptly ushered into a bath, his mother’s hands scrubbing away the kohl he’d worked so hard to draw on, causing the prince to cross his arms and his lips to pout, occupying his attention on sliding his tongue in the gap where one of his teeth once lay before it fell out nearly a week ago.

“Now, Jehan,” his mother began, now drying his hair after his stupid bath, “You know I love your imagination, but you can’t play with mommy’s things without her permission.”

Jehan rolled his eyes and sighed, hanging his head and nodding. “Yes, mama,” he replied, pausing for a moment before looking back up at her with a tentative smile, hair a damp mess. “Was I at least a scary Pharaoh?”  
  
 _“Oh, yes. Very, very_ scary.”

“As scary as papa?” he asked, face alight with excitement.

“ _Scarier_ ,” she responded, kissing his nose, which in turn made Jehan laugh, turning his head to the side and pushing her face away, only to result in her kissing his hands and face in a shower of kisses that Jehan would grow to dislike the older he got.

 

* * *

Soon enough, Jehan was fresh, clean, and kohl-free, dressed and being ushered out to play. Ugh, it was so boring to play in the palace! Jehan had already explored everything, and he wanted to see what there was to do outside. So, he devised a plan. He found a ball, shoving it into his pocket as he jogged into the place where his guards awaited him. With a wicked grin, Jehan brought a hand to his mouth so his voice would carry. “Bes!” he shouted, waiting as he heard a booming bark, followed by the sound of his dog coming where she was called. The large dog jumped up on the prince, licking at his ears and making him laugh loudly, the guards watching the prince for a moment before turning away and going about their business. Jehan grinned, taking the ball in his hand and throwing it full force off into the palace. The sound of Bes’ nails scratching against the floor as she chased the ball, followed by a loud shattering of a broken vase caught the guard’s attention. “Uh-oh… I think Bes broke something,” Jehan said, standing aside as the guards scrambled to see the extent of the damages, in turn leaving the young prince unattended.

 

And just like that; Jehan was free.

 

Laughing loudly, Jehan broke into a dead run, moving just as fast as his legs would carry him. Man, he liked outside. The air was hot, but seemed so much better than what he was used to, and he didn’t know why. Well, that was until he lost his footing. Jehan shrieked, literally tripping on his own foot, and earning a face full of mud. Jehan lay still for a moment before slowly pulling himself to stand, opening his eyes to squint down at his muck covered body. He cursed under his breath, using a few choice words he’d heard his father use a couple times. Oh, man, mama was gonna be so mad… He’d only just had a bath! Jehan lifted his hands to his face, wiping off the mud before realizing someone was looking at him.

The kid’s eyes were really big. Like, really really big, and it made Jehan want to smile a little. In fact, he did when he caught sight of the freckles. They were kinda like face stars. You know, like the stars in the sky, only on someone’s face. Jehan looked down at the mud, thinking face stars were a stupid thing to call freckles before it hit him. This was what he could do! Stomp around in the mud! Jehan looked back up to the freckled boy with a wide smile. “Hey, can I do this with you?” The boy looked around, then back to Jehan.

“Y-Yeah, of course. But hurry up, or else we’ll get in trouble,” he’d said, and Jehan nodded, laughing before giving a great leap and stomping away. He never was allowed to get dirty at home! Man, Jehan _loved_ playing in the mud!

 

Man, Jehan _hated_ playing in the mud. “My face itches. I’m hungry. Why are there so many bugs? They keep biting me! What did I ever do to you, bugs?!” The complaints came often and many from the prince, the boy with the freckles nodding and agreeing every so often, but otherwise he was quiet and just listened. Jehan liked that this kid liked to listen to him. If he didn’t like listening, why else would he? Then it hit Jehan that he didn’t even know the other boy’s name! So, Jehan stopped stomping around, eyebrows furrowed, and turned to face him. “Hey, what’s your name?” Jehan asked, to which the boy smiled in response.

“Markoh,” he’d said, and Jehan thought to himself that the name was kinda funny. He’d never heard one like it before. “What’s yours?”

Jehan immediately grinned, puffing out his chest with pride, pressing his thumb to his sternum, and opening his mouth to speak, only it wasn’t his voice that came out.

“Prince Jehan! What are you doing out here?!” a voice shouted. Damn. Jehan groaned to himself, dragging himself out of the mud pit to stand before the guard that had called to him. “We’ve been searching everywhere for you. How did you get out here?”

“I ran,” he responded simply, crossing his arms.

“Prince Jehan, your mother must be extremely worried about you. Come on, let’s go, I’m taking you back to the palace.”

“Only if you carry me,” Jehan replied, his voice mildly annoyed and his legs burning from all the stomping around in the mud.

 

* * *

Jehan received a lecture from his mother all throughout his second bath, his mother’s hands harshly scrubbing his skin and hair, muttering about how dangerous this stunt was. What was so dangerous about it? All he did was go play in the mud with a freckled boy named Markoh. Was his mother mad just because he got really dirty? She wasn’t this mad when he drew on his eyes with kohl. At the end of his mother’s lecture he hadn’t even paid attention to, she told Jehan something that made his blood run cold: his father wanted to speak with him.

Jehan’s father was terrifying; face serious, eyes cold, an aura of importance and power radiating off of him. He was mean, he was stoic, he had a voice that seemed to make the earth tremble, and he was mad at _Jehan_. The boy was dressed and dried before being escorted to the throne room, his father sitting tall and intimidating, as if he himself were molded into the throne. “Jehan,” the booming voice spoke and Jehan swallowed, standing as straight as he could with shaking knees.

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you know why your mother and I are angry with you?”

“B….Because I was playing in the mud…”

“It’s because of who you were playing in the mud with,” his father corrected him, which caused Jehan’s eyebrows to furrow. What? Because of who he was playing with? “Those people are not there to play. They are there to work. Do you know why the people there are working?” Jehan shook his head. “Use your words,” Pharaoh snapped.

“N-No, sir,” Jehan squeaked, his body giving a small quiver as he responded with words as instructed.

“Good boy. Those people work all day to build a better life for those who deserve it; the ones who are blessed with power, and are born with the right to rule."

“Like us,” Jehan said, his voice almost as if he were unsure of his answer.

Pharaoh nodded. “Like us,” he repeated. “Those people who work in the mud are called slaves, and they are owned by us. We use them to build our future and the future of Egypt. However, the slaves think themselves too important and sometimes they attempt to rebel against the natural order of things.They despise you and I, as they will your children, and everyone who is better than them. They hate us because we have power, wealth, and intelligence, while they were born filthy pigs,” he said, and Jehan remained silent, not really understanding a lot of the words his father used. “They are jealous of us because we are superior,” Pharaoh explained in simpler terms and Jehan thought for a moment, his teeth worrying his bottom lip.

“Jealous?” Jehan asked, not really thinking Markoh had acted very jealous at all. Or had that all been a lie?

Pharaoh nodded, beckoning Jehan closer. The prince walked forward, standing now just before his father, looking up at him with a mixture of confusion, fear, and adoration. “Jehan, because the slaves are jealous, they might have tried to hurt you. You are my son, and as such, I worry about your safety.” Jehan felt his heart swell. He worried about Jehan! He cared about Jehan! “So for your own good,” his father continued, “you are never to leave the palace without an escort. Do you understand me?”

Jehan nodded, pausing for a moment. Right. Use words. “Yes, papa,” he said, and his father reached forward, long fingers buried in Jehan’s sandy hair. Jehan felt his stomach flip, his lips turning up into a grin at the sight of his own father’s mouth also forming into a very small and rare smile. He drunk in every second of this affection he hardly received. Okay, so maybe he had gotten the worst scolding and talk he’d ever gotten, but his dad was actually being affectionate towards him!

“Go on and play. I will see you tonight at dinner,” he said removing his hand from Jehan’s head, and Jehan nodded, still smiling as he was escorted away. Although his father’s smile had faded before he left, the image was burned pleasantly into his mind, as were the words of caring and concern. They took over his thoughts completely up until dinner, and even afterwards when he was tucked into bed.

 

  
All thoughts of the freckled boy with the big brown eyes were forgotten.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAND there's little Jehan!
> 
> I'm telling you, kid!Jean is fucking hard to write for, so imagine kid!Jean in an ancient Egypt AU. Yeesh!
> 
> I hope you guys liked it, and I promise I won't take a month to update it again. Again, I'm sorry for taking so long, and thank you so much to everyone who's read this so far. You have no clue what this means to me!
> 
> I love you all!
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. Again, my tumblr is Arminfuckingarlert and you guys should all go and thank CacklingJackal not only for giving me inspiration for everything, but also for their awesome art.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp that took me a lot of courage to post. Hope you guys liked it! I'm sorry it was so short. I promise it'll be longer next chapter! I don't know when I'll next update but hopefully it won't be too long from now!
> 
> Until next time, guys! Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
